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Welcome to the Dark Side!

We are writers mainly from Australia and New Zealand who write speculative fiction with romantic elements. Be it fantasy, paranormal, dark urban fantasy, futuristic and everything in between.
Showing posts with label erotic romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label erotic romance. Show all posts

Thursday, 13 September 2018

Magic Thursday--J L Peridot Shares an Excerpt from Her Latest Novella

Warning: The following excerpt contains strong language.





From The Only Question That Matters:

“Do you find me attractive?”
Just like that, I ask him. And why not? We’ve been flirting a little lately, I think. Unless I’ve read him completely wrong.
It’s likely. It’s been a long time since I’ve flirted with anyone, and I’ve never found reading people as easy as others make it out to be. My friends have a knack for sensing the difference between a signal for affection and someone just being friendly. But not me.
The first boy who broke my heart was named Vaughan. His family was from the Aegis colony. He had those beautiful green eyes and high cheekbones his people are famous for. I was thirteen and too tragic. He was kind to me once when we both had detention, and I was too inexperienced to know how easily I could embarrass myself in the months that followed.
Finally, we both attended a Christmas party at the home of a mutual friend. I kissed him under the mistletoe. He hugged me with one hand on my ass. I skipped away, thinking he might ask me out. Later, I overheard him and a big-breasted girl from another school making fun of me when they thought I was out of the room.
The music stops. The whirring fades as twelve spinning wheels slow to a halt. At first, I think I’ve fucked up, and my face and neck are warm—warmer than they would normally be after a spin class. When he leans over the handles instead of looking at me, I think maybe he just didn’t hear me. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. I step off my bike, but before I can leave, his hand is on my arm.
“Wait.”
The word falls out of him between breaths. He is drenched in sweat, and the heat emanating from him ripples the air around the surface of his skin. He squeezes my wrist, forehead resting on his other hand, shoulders rising and falling.
The studio walls glow with a dewy light. It’s morning, almost my last. By this time tomorrow, the AMS Celestial Dream will reach Planet Paradiso, the end of my journey. Or rather, the beginning. But Alexei will carry on and circle back home, wherever his home is. The universe is a big place. We may never see each other again. This is my last chance.
And so, even if I wait for the answer to be no, I suppose I'm glad to have asked. I could have opened by asking, will you go to bed with me? But we barely know each other beyond light conversation and laughter, three times a week or less. A spin class here, a yoga class there—quips and commiserations, captured in forty-five-minute aerobic snapshots, and passing glances in amenities around the ship.
After one final, deep breath, Alexei looks at me. His blue eyes offer the smile that connects us before it travels to his lips. His hand moves to my hand. He gives me another squeeze.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think that last hill would be so steep. I guess my cardio’s not that good.” He pauses, mouth open. I brace for a rejection, but he gets off his bike and continues. “I do find you attractive, Sofia, as a matter of fact.”
Now it’s my turn to smile. My body wants to turn away so my stupid face doesn’t betray my feelings, my secrets, my fear that he means to share this joke with one of the beauties in tomorrow’s Body Pump.
But I stand fast and hold his gaze. I let him see my eyes, my lips. I let him see me. I am thirty-two now, not thirteen. He is Alexei, not Vaughan. And despite my preparations for this moment, I stand here at a loss for words.
“Well,” I begin slowly, leaning on my bike so he won’t think me too eager, “that is good to know.”
A rustle at the door breaks the silence between us. It’s Danica from housekeeping. Two nights ago, we chatted while she refreshed the kitchenette in my cabin. I liked her then, but her eyes are black like the void and she has the face of a chocolate china doll. Her deep-red tunic fits her petite figure too well, with the cruise ship’s monogram stitched in a precarious position on the edge of her left breast.
She is pretty. And so I bristle now, even though she is the politest of polite as she waves to us.
“Hello, ma’am, sir.” She bobs her head in deference. “May I clean this room?”
I wonder if Alexei likes subservient women. Perhaps the old me would have been a better match for him. But I doubt Danica is subservient off the clock. Her eyes shine far too brightly when she smiles. There is cheek in her. Perhaps he sees it too. When he tells her we’re done in here, I listen for the hidden knowledge in his voice.
But when she wheels her cart inside, his eyes remain on me. He slings his towel over his neck and motions for the door.
“Come on,” he says, “let’s get out of here.”
Outside the cycle studio, the corridor is dim. All of the ship is like this: bright and warm where people gather, conservative where they merely transit. I hear the exclusive Diamond Deck is lush and bright wherever you go; opulence, perhaps for its own sake. An empty room doesn’t need light or comfortable heat. And neither do we, as we pad the shadowed wooden floors on the way to the showers.
I think to ask him, now, will you go to bed with me? But perhaps it’s still too soon? I’m not sure what I’m waiting for. All I can think about are my hours running out.


“Do I call this love already? I am almost disgusted with myself. How pathetic to fall so easily. Perhaps I was the cause of my past heartbreaks. Not stupid schoolboys or an arrogant rich man, but a gullible girl from a flower farm who opens her heart too readily and expects too much.”

Sofia is en route to Planet Paradiso, ready to start a new life after her divorce. But when she accepts Alexei's dinner invitation on her final evening, she realises she's in for more than she bargained for. As the AMS Celestial Dream arrives at its destination, and their one-night stand draws to a close, Sofia must choose between a newfound possibility with Alexei and the freedom she so desperately craves.

The Only Question That Matters by JL Peridot is an emotional examination of healing and resilience through sex and love. Available now on Amazon.

Saturday, 20 December 2014

Enchanted Orb with Dani Kristoff

 

 
Our Enchanted Orb post today is with Dani Kristoff, reader and writer of paranormal romance and who is sharing the magic of inspiration behind her writing.

Dani Kristoff: The magic of inspiration


There are elements to inspiration that are not easy to corral when you want them. 

There is an idea, the spark of something that can evolve into a story (or an artwork, poem, designer cake, hat, dress…you name it).

Then there is the time and the energy and the skill. Magically these all have to work together to make inspiration work, to give an idea form.

The best part of the magic of inspiration is when all these come together. There’s an idea, there’s the time, energy and skill and you hum along and get a buzz.

It’s not only with writing do I get this inspirational feeling. I make hats, or try to. And it creates a high, I think, when it comes together as you imagine it.

I’ve dabbled in cake decorating too. I really needed to have an idea, some inspiration to create a design. I find that comes from the same place as story ideas, or maybe it’s the time factor. I really haven’t had much inspiration to decorate cakes lately. Not since I’ve been published. I do have the inspiration to eat them though. (the evidence is hard to disguise!)

I believe my problem with cakes though is skill. I want to take more classes and haven’t been able to because the teacher I want to teach me has been ill. So stay tuned on the cake front.

Sometimes inspiration comes is waves and there’s too much write. It can be distracting to have too many ideas and not enough time. Perhaps this is a type of hyperactivity I need to take medication for. Mmmm. Anyway, this is where note taking can work very well. Gone are the days when I remembered everything and carried it around in my head for years! Now I’m diving to a notebook or my iPhone to jot that thought down before it skitters away into the darkness. It’s scary how quickly those fab ideas disappear- like seconds. Fleeting inspiration perhaps.

But when all the elements come together there is something magical in that. I’m currently drafting a novel and it’s very much a discovery for me. I sort of know in my head how the story goes, but it’s the act of writing, the act of discovery that’s awe inspiring. I seem to be writing so I know what happens next, so I can see and feel how my characters react. It’s like the process is external to me.

Ah that it! It’s the magic of writing inspires me.

Dani's latest release is: The Sorcerer's Spell.

Blurb

A sexy, body-switching urban fantasy. Annwyn goes to bed dreaming of making love with her dead husband and wakes up in the body of another woman, a woman who is having hot sex with Dane, a powerful sorcerer. Her body has been stolen by Nira, a sorceress, who feeds her magical power through sex, the kinkier the better. The curse she laid on Dane turns him into a werewolf every full moon. To complicate matters Dane's werewolf friend Rolf, succumbs to Nira when she temporarily repossess her body, causing jealously and confusion. Time is running out, as soon Dane will be a werewolf forever unless he can break the curse. Rafael from the Collegium of Sorcerers is the only one Dane trusts to help them, but when a wider conspiracy is revealed, it's up to Annwyn and her developing magical powers to save Dane before it's too late. But can she seduce an unwilling werewolf to lure the sorceress into a final confrontation?
Buy Links for The Sorcerer's Spell:

Amazon AU | iBookstore | Nook
Where to connect with Dani:
 




Thursday, 28 August 2014

Magic Thursday: ES Siren

Today Mel Teshco, Denise Rossetti and I launch our new sci-fi romance series ES Siren. Set on the ship ES Siren as it makes the twelve month trip to the planet where they are hoping to establish a colony there is a mix of crew, military, civilians and prisoners (because someone has to do the hard work).

To give you a taste for the stories here are the moments where our heroes and heroines meet for the first time.


Rita slowed, then stopped at his cell and stared through the flex window.

The shaggy brown-blond hair that drifted to his shoulders was in stark contrast to the male soldiers on the ship, with their closely cropped hair. But Tristan’s mane, shining beneath the overhead light, did little to soften the hard angles and planes of his face. Not that it mattered, his toughness didn’t detract from his magnificence. It just enhanced his maleness, his magnetism.

Tristan’s brushstrokes abruptly stilled. He turned, his deep emerald eyes locking with hers. Something flashed in his gaze. Awareness. Caution. Restraint.
Rita had no doubt he accepted her presence as routine now. She only wished she could see something more … welcoming in his face.

Anger swelled even as all her common sense deflated.  She wasn’t some lowly whore beneath his worth! She was Chief Warrant Officer, commissioned officer in the US army and officer in charge of work placement for the prisoners. She was a rung below her lover, who was in charge of the prison guards, and she was sick and tired of the men in her life treating her as something less.
She turned her wrist to the cell’s identifier so it could read her implanted chip and allow her access. As an officer, she wasn’t exactly restricted from going into Tristan’s cell, but it was foolhardy to do so alone.

The door unlocked and she pressed it open then stepped into his cell. Her heart hammered and the lower regions of her belly tightened. She paused for a moment, to regain some semblance of composure. Not for the first time, she wondered if he appreciated the fact that no other prisoners shared his space. In comparison to the three standard bunk beds bolted to the walls in each of the other cells, his living area was expansive. 
She cleared her throat. “I see they’ve taken off your magna-cuffs.”

He’d turned back to his painting, as though whatever about her had captured his attention earlier was all but forgotten. “No. They’ve been relocated,” he corrected gruffly, lifting a leg to show the magna-cuffs snaring his ankles.
It made sense. He’d be unable to fully bend and flex his wrists with them on, and the powers that be would want to ensure he could display his talent at all times.

She stopped, eyeing the canvas, which, viewed from this side, was mysteriously blank. She didn’t want to see his creation—it seemed too personal, too private. “I’m sorry they felt the need for you to wear them,” she said softly, stupidly wanting only to please this man. “I know you’re not a criminal.”
His eyes snapped to hers, blazing and intense. “Yet I was tried and sentenced to serve the rest of my years on a flight I never wanted to be part of, traveling to a rock I care nothing about.”

She arched a brow. On the few occasions she’d tried to converse with him, he’d never given little more than monosyllabic answers. But somehow she preferred that to his ingratitude.
“You’d rather live never knowing where you’ll find clean drinking water? When you’ll have your next bite to eat? Prefer wondering which bunch of looters-turned-murderers will next set their sights on your stash of supplies?”

His jaw clenched. “Enough. I get it, I really do. You want me to kiss the toes of all those in favor of throwing me into a big alloy space-can that might well become my coffin.”


The prisoner, 1789, looked as though he’d seen better days. His cheek was split open and blood was trickling down his olive skin and into the scruffy, not-quite-a-beard that was becoming popular among the prisoners, as it meant less shaving. Her gaze flicked to his hands. His knuckles were red and grazed.

Joy, another incident report. But she doubted the Warrant Officer had caused 1789 any damage. The officer was younger than she was and probably weighed less, even with his boots on.

“What happened, Sir?” What excuse would the WO have for 1789’s injury?
The officer nudged 1789.

“I tripped and fell down a few stairs.” 1789 looked her in the eye as he spoke. His voice was perfectly modulated, but she knew it was a lie. If everything the prisoners said was true, they would have to be the clumsiest people on board. More likely he’d been fighting in the Rounds, but it was easier to agree to the lie. Safer, too. Tattling meant punishment.
She nodded. “Fine, I’ll check him out. Is he free to wander?” Or was he going to be confined to his cell? If so, she would have to call someone to escort 1789. She never walked around the male prison without another guard. She was almost a prisoner herself—confined to the medical area. Lieutenant Zane could’ve put her in the female prison section of the ship but this was his way of controlling her, isolating her even further.

The WO gave a single nod and then left, as if glad to be gone. The door clicked closed, leaving Sienna and 1789 alone. Thanks, asshole. Prick should’ve followed protocol and waited until the prisoner was locked onto the chair.
“Sit.” She made her voice as hard as she could.

1789 sat.
“I’m going to release your cuffs and you’re going to place your arms on the chair. Clear?”

“Clear.” 1789 gave a single nod.
This would either go smoothly or be a cluster fuck. She was going to report the WO … not that it would make any difference. Zane would ignore any complaint that she made. Sienna released the cuffs and held her breath, keeping her finger over the activate button on her wrist control.

As soon as he was free, 1789 placed his arms against the metal arms of the chair. She pressed the button before he had time to get comfortable.
If he’d tried anything in those few seconds she would have hit emergency, locking down every prisoner in a ten-yard radius, which would have required some explaining. She’d never had to do it yet, but as one of the few women in the male area, she was aware of her precarious situation.

“So how did you really split your cheek open?”
“I fell,” he replied in that same flat tone.

“Bullshit.” She hated being lied to, and if there was something untoward going on, she wanted to know. With Lieutenant Zane in charge of the guards, anything was possible.
He blinked and looked at her carefully. “I fell, Corporal.”

“Onto a fist. You aren’t the first to come in from the Rounds and I doubt you’ll be the last. So would you like to try again?” She swung the imager between them to check his face for broken bones.
“You know about the Rounds?”

“Everyone knows, even if they don’t watch and bet.”
His head jerked in a nod, bones white on the dark screen.

“Hold still for a moment.”
She scanned the screen, looking for telltale black shadows or spider webs of cracks. Nothing. But she saved the image anyway for his med file.

“He didn’t hit you hard enough to break anything.” But it was only a matter of time. Something was bound to go wrong in the Rounds.

He blanked the screen with a quick jab of his thumb. “Sorry. What?”

Lily Kwan plonked a bilious green plastic circle on the table in front of him. “A base for your basket.” Determinedly, she pushed the glasses back up her long nose. “I’ve pre-punched it,” she said, pointing to the holes around the perimeter.

Con stared. Though her hands were narrow and graceful, with long, slender fingers, they were filthy, as if she’d been finger-painting with camouflage colors. Two knuckles sported blisters. 

How would the clever doctor react under pressure?
Without haste, Con reached out, gripped her right wrist and turned her hand palm up. The skin was marred with nicks and cuts, some healed, some not. “What happened to your hands?”

“Nothing.” Under his thumb, her pulse fluttered. “Just doing my job,” she said, her lips tightly compressed.
When she took a step back, he held on, gently, but firmly. “Explain.”

The downlights shone directly on her face. From behind the glasses, furious almond eyes met his. They were a stormy gray, not the brown he’d expected.
Con’s lips curved, very slightly. Ah, now they were getting somewhere. The peasant had transgressed and the princess was pissed. It warmed his heart, truly it did.

“I work in a lab, all right? I do experiments.” She tugged, to no avail. Her cheeks had gone a dull red.
Lounging back in his chair, Con released her, taking his own sweet time. “I see.”

Her spine snapped straight. “Which do you want? Bamboo or reed?”
“Neither.” He gave her a calm smile. “I’ll just watch the others for now.”

The blood beat beneath the golden skin of her throat.
“Fine.” Scooping up the green circle, she whirled around and headed for the sulky prisoners.

Con stared. Had he thought their yellow shirts were the only bright notes in the room? A glossy dark braid, almost as thick as his wrist, hung down Kwan’s back, bouncing with the energy of her stride. Threaded through it was a scarlet ribbon.
~~~
I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into the world of ES Sire, it's crew, prisoners and civilians.

Thursday, 19 September 2013

Magic Thursday ~ TAINTED ~ Enemies to Lovers + Giveaway!

Four years ago a tough Roman centurion marched into my mind and heart and took over my muse (not that I heard her complaining too hard...) He was searching for his Druid princess and that story became my first published full length book, Forbidden.

Today I'm delighted that the fourth book set in my mystical Roman/Druid world, Tainted, has been released. In the first three books the heroines were natives of Cymru, fighting against the Roman invaders (and losing their hearts to them too!) In Tainted I mixed things up a bit, and the heroine, Antonia, is a Roman with patrician blood in her veins. And she falls for a man determined to eliminate all trace of the Eagle from his beloved land.

To celebrate the release of Tainted I'm participating in a fabulous Cover Reveal Blog Tour. Enter the contest below to be in with the chance of winning the Grand Prize :-)







        Blurb

A dangerous love that Rome will never allow…

Driven by the knowledge he failed to protect his king and embittered at losing the woman he loves, Celtic warrior Gawain despises the lust he feels for the beautiful Roman patrician, Antonia. She is everything he’s never wanted in a woman, yet she ignites his passion like no other. Despite the danger of discovery he embarks on an illicit liaison with her, determined to uncover the reason for the infinite sorrow that haunts her eyes.

Newly arrived in Britannia from Rome, Antonia is inexplicably drawn to the cold, tough Celt whose touch stirs a desire she long thought died at the hands of her brutal former husband. With Gawain she learns the pleasure of sex and his unexpected tenderness thaws her frozen heart. But she hides a deadly secret that could be her undoing, and knows her growing feelings for him can lead nowhere. Yet when a shadow from her past threatens her future Antonia is torn between the Empire of her birth and betraying Gawain, the man she’s grown to love.

Inside Scoop: This medieval romance dabbles a wee bit in the paranormal.

A Romantica® historical erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave






Ellora’s Cave Publishing     Amazon     Amazon UK     ARe     Kobo


Connect with Christina:

Website    Facebook    Twitter    Goodreads    Blog  


Tour Wide Giveaway Details

One Prize (International):
E-copy of the previous book set in this world, Betrayed
$10 Amazon Gift Card
Swag – Bookmarks, Postcards and Fridge Magnets

Enter the Rafflecopter Contest below




Bio

Christina loves writing dark tales of tough, sexy warriors who are brought to their knees by their heroines. A mystical touch of fantasy or paranormal usually weaves its way through her stories, although strangely enough this wasn’t her intention when she first starting writing her Roman/Druid romances. But when ancient gods and goddesses get involved, it’s best just to go with the flow :-)

She is published by Ellora’s Cave and Berkley Heat and has dipped her toe in the indie pub waters. She is a member of the Romance Writers of Australia, Romance Writers of America, the DarkSide Down Under Group Blog and Historical Hearts Group Blog.

Christina is an ex-pat Brit who now lives in sunny Western Australia with her family. She is also owned by three gorgeous cats who are convinced the universe revolves around their needs. They are not wrong.










a Rafflecopter giveaway

Saturday, 22 June 2013

Enchanted Orb - When Things go Wrong

This week, please welcome Imogene Nix writing on what a writer of sexy, sassy and out-of-this-world romance does when things go wrong.

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When Things Go Wrong


Hi World, it’s Imogene Nix here!

Today’s blog isn’t the usual “woe is me” that you might think based on the title. (See, but it did make you read on, didn’t it??)  It’s more a celebration of how, when things go wrong, it’s usually for a reason.

I’m probably the biggest proponent of that.

As a writer, we are not an island (Sound familiar?) Yes, I know... the old “No man is an island...” but there was never a truer word spoken in jest or otherwise. No writer is an island.  They don’t form on the world fully grown up dressed and with computer in hand (thought that would make an interesting premise...)

Every writer I know is an amalgam of thoughts, feelings, experiences and knowledge. These have taken years to form. And a hell of a lot of hiccups too, usually.
 
When in their native environment, we/they tend to congregate in herds (a bit like cattle really) chewing over the motivators of their characters, the pros and cons of location and aesthetics of describing their current situations. 

But you know what? While writing is a lonely exercise, where we block out the world, we also form close friendship groups. Those we can rely on to be honest with us. To tell us, not what we want to hear, but what we need to hear.

Those groups come together over time. There will be missteps and mistakes along the way. Unless you are an excellent judge of character, sometimes there will be the odd incomplete meshing, where the association will fizzle and fall away, a bit like yesterdays rewrite. It’s sad, yet a fact of life. Lots of friendships go that route, but the true ones hang around (like last week’s socks, smelling up the corner!)  

But you know what? Over time we find people who share our values, beliefs and interests. They make us better writers/authors. They celebrate with us when things go right and commiserate when they go wrong. And most importantly They Get Us. 

These friendship groups that writers form buoy us up and remind us of why we are here. In fact, they become like a pseudo family to us. They know when we’ve just killed off a character that we adore but has to die to help tell the tale. They celebrate when hero gets the heroine and they will boo and hiss when the bad guy kidnaps said heroine (or hero if that floats your boat). But they understand our motivations and compulsions.

Most importantly, they will respect you in the morning. Treat you like you want to be treated and be above all, honest.

So if you are in a group that maybe doesn’t motivate you, that you don’t mesh with fully, or get you and your motivation... Take heart! There could be another one, just ready for you to take the plunge.
I have to tell you, I’ve done it and without my lovely HTH crew around me, I wouldn’t be the author I am now! And you can take that promise to the bank!

Thanks for listening,

Imogene
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